


It's Warmer In the Basement

by breezyArtii2an



Series: there's room for one more troubled soul [2]
Category: Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco, The Youngblood Chronicles (Music Video), Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe, Death, Dumb kids trying to save each other and the world, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mourning, Multi, PTSD, Recovery, Revolution, Road Trips, Six tired kids in a van, Smut, Time Skips, Traveling, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 15:29:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6158182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breezyArtii2an/pseuds/breezyArtii2an
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Please read the first two chapters of Nobody Wants To Hear You Sing About Tragedy first. I promise it's a richer experience.</p><p>The Takeover didn't happen overnight, and rock and roll didn't die without a fight. So many fell at Love's feet before Pete, Patrick, Joe and Andy tried to seal Xibalba away. But their legacies echo in the basement of Roadhouse 27, the home base of the rebellion that refused to be silent.</p><p>There are empty chairs at empty tables.</p><p>Josephine, Noah, Clayton, Angelis, and Lucinda will always remember who sat there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'll check in tomorrow (if i don't wake up dead)

**Author's Note:**

> NWTHYSAT is NOT dead. 
> 
> Here are some side stories to tide you over. Deal?

God, there's blood everywhere.

Victoria Asher supposed that that's what one should expect in war, no matter how guerilla that war may be. Regardless, nothing ever prepares you to see your friend and maybe-lover bleeding all over both of you.

The gurgling noise is the worst. She tried to quiet him, but now he's spitting up blood and she feels bile rising in her throat. Gabe's throat is a mess of shredded skin, as if he'd been hit by a propeller. He's lucky; had they hit a vital vein or artery he would have died. Not that he isn't slowly dying in her arms.

She took a shaky breath. Where did it all go so wrong? They were going to meet Travie and Levine as usual, get the info, and get back safe in time for Victoria to teach Josie some more keytar--

"Yo, Vicky-T."

She screamed and instinctively clawed at the arm that grabbed hers. She jolted, suddenly disoriented by the light around her, and sat up. When she looked up, Brendon was standing there with a sheepish expression.

"I'm sorry." He said, rubbing his arm. She noted the red marks from her nails.

"No, I'm sorry I wrecked your arm. Jesus Christ, you scared me." She rubbed her eyes. She recognized the Roadhouse's ground floor common lobby, the navy blue couches and the TV, the peach carpet and drapery, the out of place art nouveau pieces that Jo insisted on...

"You were having a nightmare." Brendon explained. "I didn't wanna just leave you... and it's cold as balls up here, everyone's downstairs. It's warmer in the basement, seriously..." 

"Gabe?" Victoria asked. Brendon's forehead wrinkled in thought.

"Still asleep. Ryland was in there last time I checked."

Victoria's shoulders slumped. 

"I should stay up here, until he wakes up."

"Vicky-T, you need to come down and detox before you get in there and deal with all that crap." Brendon looked at her sternly. "Seriously. You've got shit to sort through, but till then, you need a break. 

"But Gabe--" 

"Can wait until you've got your head on straight. Come on, Victoria. You look like all hell broke loose." Brendon helped her up, and Victoria sighed, deciding to acquiesce before he called for back up.

"It did, for a while there." She kept her eyes trained on the wall, jaw setting as she remembered. "I thought--I thought I'd lost him. Then you and Dallon came and... God, I've never been so relieved in my life." 

Brendon cracked a smile. "Come on." He gently led her toward the basement.

Roadhouse 27's basement always blew her away with its high ceilings and polished walnut floors and paneling. It felt so much more like piling into a club than a basement.

("S'been here since Prohibition," Noah had explained once, when Victoria and the boys had first come, "I just fixed it up.")

"Vicky-T!"

Nate practically bum rushed her and hugged her tightly. "Jesus fucking CHRIST, Victoria, you scared us shitless."

"Sorry." She mumbled into his shoulder, squeezing him in apology. 

He kissed her forehead. "Yeah, well. Shit hit the fan, right?"

She nodded solemnly, and he looked her in the eye, a stern expression on his face. Victoria tried to ignore that Nate's hands were trembling, and the resulting guilt of being the cause of his nerves. 

"Listen to me, Vicky-T. What happened to Gabe was not your fault." 

"I should have seen--you didn't see Levine's eyes, Nate, I should have known!" She protested, voice cracking as she thought of the animalistic expression in Adam's eyes as he scratched at Gabe's throat. Her eyes closed. Nate gripped her shoulders.

"You couldn't have known. We trusted him. He was our friend." Nate insisted. Victoria sighed. "And Gabe would be pissed if he knew you were beating yourself up over this."

Victoria shrugged noncommittally. Nate narrowed his eyes at her, but shrugged as well.

"We'll talk about this later." He promised, guiding her further into the room.

"Hey Victoria. How are you feeling?" Josie asked genially. The small, chubby girl was standing at the table, dabbing cotton at Dallon's arm. He'd gotten hurt when he'd helped her and Gabe escape, she remembered. He'd been grazed by a knife. She'd torn her shirt to give him a makeshift tourniquet. She owes him.

Jo tilted her head to look closer at Victoria, so she answered, "I'm all right. I've been better." She hesitated. "Thank you, Josie, for taking care of Gabe and Dallon... Gabe wouldn't be alive--"

"If you hadn't brought him home safe to us." Jo finished for her, cutting her off. Victoria stared, stunned.

"You brought him home, Victoria. Simple as that." She poked at Dallon's arm again with the cotton. He flinched. She scowled at him and he frowned back. At Victoria's questioning glance, she began to explain, "I'm cleaning up his new stitches, but he keeps moving." 

"Alcohol hurts!!!" Dallon exclaimed passionately, wrenching his arm away.

"Do you want to get an infection, you whiny bitch?" Jo hissed back, not so gently grabbing his arm back. Dallon yelped and submissively allowed her to return to cleaning him up. 

"I'm sorry, Dall," Victoria began, but he held up a hand. 

"Vicky-T, I'm sorry I couldn't have made it to you guys sooner." He looked regretfully at her. "The Vixens had me and Bren distracted for just a few minutes too long..." he trailed off, but, seeing her face, brightened. "I'm just glad we got you two out safe." He grinned. "I know you'll have my back next time."

"Of course." She replied, smiling. She patted his knee, and, seeing the new cuts and bruises on him, privately promised to buy him a drink or five later.

"Wait, Victoria." Jo started, setting down her tweezers and cotton onto a metal pan with a dull twang. "I need to talk to you." She gave Dallon a stern look, and he quickly hopped off his perch and walked over to where Clayton, Noah, and Angel were lounging around with Josh and Tyler. 

Jo looked on them for a short while, watching as Noah and Tyler sang verses back and forth to each other. She looked back at Victoria, then sighed. "I don't know how to tell you... I told Nate and Ryland and Alex, but each time, it just gets harder to say. When Lucinda and I worked on Gabe, we... God, I don't think I've ever felt so out of my league in my life. My brother had to help me and that was terrifying." She laughed humorlessly, and bit her lip. The pause lengthened. "Victoria, Gabe's throat, as you saw, was a fucking wreck. I don't know if an expert doctor could have completely fixed the damage. Truth is, I don't know if Gabe will ever be able to sing again."

Victoria's eyes watered. "Fucking Christ..." she bit her lip, then shook her head. "Jesus fuckin Christ.." she sat down next to her, and shook her head. "God, this war has taken away so much. This isn't fair... and I bet I'm gonna have to break it to him, aren't I?" 

"Don't let him be Hayley." Jo whispered.

Victoria closed her eyes, thinking back on Hayley Williams. She'd loved the fiery attitude she'd had. But she'd gotten the same treatment that Jo and Noah and Travie and Adam and Gerard and Tyler and God, so many of them had suffered under Love's idiotic war--but Hayley must have pissed somebody off, because when they'd finally, finally brought her home, her band was dead and her vocal chords were mangled beyond repair. They'd learned sign language for her; but when Love had tried to use her brainwashing on her, Hayley had laughed silently and slit her own throat. Victoria had caught her when she'd fallen. 

"I won't." She promised.

"You're not alone." Jo reminded, placing a hand over hers. "You're never alone when you're here." She looked up as Bill passed, and the new kid Max came in with some drinks to pass around. Dallon showed off his stitches to anybody who'd listen, and Victoria felt her heart ache for her brothers and sisters in arms. Music had bonded them in blood, sweat and tears, and she thought back up to Gabe, where he lay safe in bed rather than six feet under like their fallen friends.

"Sometimes I forget." Victoria admitted. "It's easy to forget, when we're fighting all the time. The world is so cold, no one cares that we're dying."

"Well, lucky for you, it's warmer in the basement, and as long as I live, it will stay that way." Jo pledged, and Victoria nodded. Maybe nothing felt okay right now, but as long as she had the Roadhouse to call home, and as long as she had her friends, well, maybe one day it would, and they wouldn't need to fight one more goddamn day.

"Thank you." Victoria turned to Josie. "Thank you, for everything. Giving us all a place to stay. Healing our wounds when we come back. I know, after all that's happened, it's hard..."

"I do what I can, but I can't take all the credit." Jo replied, waving her off. "I can't fight anymore in this damn war, but..." she looked around the room again, bustling with the energy of their boys. Victoria watched her catch eyes with Clayton Michaelis, the way they held each other's gaze. "... for him, and for my band, for you, and Gabe, and everyone we fight with, for Hayley and Mikey and everyone else we've lost and anyone hoping we'll win, I'll face God and walk backwards into hell. Music is the only place I've ever belonged." She admitted softly.

"I think we all understand that feeling." Victoria agreed.

They talked a little longer, until the guys pulled Victoria over to their side. Victoria definitely noticed Clay pull Jo aside, an intensity in his eyes she'd never seen before.

"Ten bucks says he's finally making it official with her." Brendon said.

("They weren't official?" Tyler asked in disbelief. He set his ukulele aside and leaned forward to peer curiously at the pair until Josh silently maneuvered Tyler back to a more discreet sitting position. 

"Don't be rude." He said.)

"Twenty says he's proposing." Nate shot back.

"Thirty says he's apologizing for something stupid." Alex put in, nudging Nate as he said so. "I don't know if you noticed, but Clay is pretty oblivious."

"Forty says they're going upstairs to fuck." Noah cut in, slapping his bills on the table. As they watched, the pair smiled secretively to one another, and quickly climbed the stairs hand in hand. Brendon gawked at Noah in disbelief.

"No fair! Dude's your best friend, you know him better than all of us!" Brendon protested, sweeping Noah's money to the floor with a big flourish.

"Rude." Noah grumbled. "But speaking of making it official, Victoria, when are you?"

"'Scuse me?" She asked, taken aback. 

"You know what I mean." The kid looked at her from beneath his bangs and asymmetrical undercut as if he was a particularly annoying punk-ass little brother. The effect was so comical, she laughed.

"Sweetheart, that's none of your business." She snickered, but smiled kindly. "Thanks, but... I'm dealing with that one step at a time."

"Yeah, you can't force it. We've tried." Nate gave her a shit eating grin. She shoved him in response.

"I'll deal with it on my own, thanks." She insisted. "You little shit." 

...

(As it turns out, "dealing with it" didn't happen for a while. For the most part, Gabe was simply too weak to do much but sleep. He was stuck on an IV for the most part, at least until everyone was certain his wounds would heal. For the same reason, communication was one sided unless Gabe felt up to signing or writing back.

But Victoria stayed at his side every day, so she hoped that at least communicated something.

But that's a story for another day.)


	2. so just pour a drink, let's talk it over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We've got tabs on all of them now." Brendon announced, tossing a manila folder onto the table.
> 
> "You finally found Pete?" Alex asked disbelievingly.
> 
> "I didn't. Someone else did. Guy by the name of Charley Marley."
> 
> "Well that's a stupid name." Alex snorted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brendon, as de-facto leader until Gabe's recovery, has an important mission to plan; Josephine watches him crack under the stresses of leadership.

"Hey..." Spencer pushed his laptop towards Brendon. "What the fuck is this?"

Brendon squinted at the text. He needed glasses, but it was a little hard to get basic necessities when the world is out to kill you. So he squinted, trying to will the words into focus.

Even then, it didn't make any sense.

Then again, Britain was the home of punk, so why wouldn't somebody be out to help them? Rebellion and punk rock are almost synonymous! Right?

"Codename: Charley Marley." He repeated. "Well, that's a stupid name."

....

They'd planted agents wherever they could to gather intel and protect the music and push kids to safety or to the Roadhouse's territory. That's what Travie's job was, what Adam had done before Love had turned him, what Sean, Lolo, Hoodie, Tyler, Josh, Max, and many others do now. He used to do it too, but, when Dallon had put his foot down and Gee and Mikey died, Brendon, for once, went quietly into anonymity. As a senior member, he was tasked with training the new blood. Arguably they had the riskiest job, as they had to infiltrate pop and make nice with Love's company, gather allies and intel if possible, and most importantly stay low. But their network was growing every day, and it definitely paid off.

Sure, it would have helped if Gee was still around to help them coordinate, but he'd earned a long, peaceful rest. And, Brendon thought it would be a shitton easier with Ryan could help him sort things out, or if Hayley were around to cheer him up. But for the most part, Gee's leadership had kept everybody calm. He sighed and shook his head. Brendon missed him of course, just as he missed Ryan and Jon. They had lost a lot of good people. But if they were going to move forward and fix what Love destroyed, he had work to do. He had to focus, for Sarah's sake.

Brendon was in charge now; there's no Gerard or Pete or Ryan to save his ass. Once upon a time nobody would have dreamed of putting Brendon in charge of anything, let alone an entire rebellion. Now they had no choice. "Welcome to the end of eras..." he muttered. They were stuck with him in charge, like it or not, at least until Gabe was feeling up to the task again. If he ever was. Brendon thought of how unsteady Victoria's hands had been, how Jojo screams in the night, how Noah trembles when he sees the news reports on Love. His jaw clenched as his mind replayed Hayley's gurgling shrieks as she realized she would never speak or sing again, the light leaving Ryan's eyes as he mumbled an apology to Brendon, the broken limp body of Gee dropping unceremoniously in front of him, the haunted shadows under Bill's eyes when Greta... He sucked in a breath. You don't just bounce back from shit like that, and, after all that he'd experienced, Brendon wouldn't blame Gabe one bit if he couldn't face this life anymore. Brendon closed his eyes, grit his teeth. Back to the task at hand, he has work to do.

And said task, currently, would be checking in with their current agents tasked with tailing the members of Fall Out Boy. They needed to get a hold on them, bring them back or protect them. Really, it was Pete's call, if they could find him.

In '09 he remembered them falling apart. The split had been a long time coming. 2010 had begun a dark chapter for each of the guys, and he remembered calling and calling, trying to keep tabs on his friends. Patrick and Pete, he remembered, had been doing especially horrible.

But when the war had broke they'd all lost touch with Patrick, Pete, Joe, and Andy. Now, they were keeping tabs on all of them. Lupe Fiasco was keeping tabs on Patrick in Chicago. Best he stayed there, Brendon thought, far away from Love's interest. Then, a while back, Gee had managed to make contact with Andy. Hurley retreated deep into rock and roll, and luckily he'd managed to bring Joe with him. Pete, though...

Nobody knew where Pete was.

Rumor has it he'd gotten a new band, but they couldn't find a trace of him anywhere.

Of course, now they'd gotten a tip off.

Which means, if Pete was indeed in London, then Brendon would need to send an agent to go get him. He sighed. They were shorthanded as it was without him deploying someone across the pond. Maybe he could get in touch with somebody over there, maybe the guys in Coldplay, or Ed Sheeran, but then he ran the risk of exposing the rebellion if they were caught, discovered, or simply plain fuckin snitches.

God he hates snitches. Snitches and talkers get stitches and walkers.

Brendon sighed.

What the fuck was he supposed to even do?

 

...  
Alex, Tyler, Josh, Max, Nate, Clayton, Noah, Josie, and Dallon are sitting in the lounge when he arrived. Gabe of course is still recovering, and naturally Victoria is with him; Lucinda and Angel, he remembered, were on a grocery run. Anybody else would be on a mission or off to their own devices.

"So! I have excellent news." Brendon announced loudly. 

"Oh, do tell. I'm so excited." Josie called out sarcastically. 

"This is important!" Brendon whined. "Seriously, listen up." He spoke louder, using his Leader Voice. Gabe taught him how to use the Leader Voice. Everyone quieted down instantly. God bless the Leader Voice.

"We've got tabs on all of them now." Brendon finally shared, tossing a manila folder onto the table closest to him.

"You finally found Pete?" Alex asked disbelievingly.

"I didn't. Someone else did. Guy by the name of Charley Marley."

"Well that's a stupid name." Alex snorted.

"I fucking know, right?" Brendon exclaimed. "But whatever, this guy's one of us now, so try not to be a dick about his codename."

"No promises." Alex muttered, even as Nate nudged him. 

"What do you mean, he's one of us now?" Clayton asked cautiously, adjusting Josie in his lap. (She squawked with an undignified "HEY", but, as he settled her more comfortably, she pouted and quieted.)

"I mean, I hired him to tail Pete for now. Just until we're ready to make contact." Brendon explained. "I didn't have a choice. You guys know how shorthanded we are."

A grim expression crossed over everyone's faces. 

"How.... how do you know he's not..." Dallon began delicately.

"A fucking traitor." Noah piped up.

"We don't. Which is why I'm looking for volunteers to go to London." Brendon eyed them all carefully, wondering who exactly would haul their ass across the pond for Wentz.

"We could go." Tyler suggested, gesturing to Josh.

Brendon shrugged. "Think it over, then. Just wanted to put that out there."

Josie looked thoughtful. "Maybe... with everyone together... once we get Fall Out Boy back..." she shook her head, then, looking unsure. Clayton kissed her temple, and Brendon nodded at her.

"Maybe." He agreed. "We have to keep them safe first. We aren't going to bring them back in until they're ready..." Well. If they ever were. Brendon didn't voice that thought, but it crossed his mind. And judging by the uncertain expressions on the others' faces, it crossed theirs too. 

"Gabe's gonna be pissed we found Pete without him." Alex chuckled, looking just a touch on the side of faux casual.

"Well that asshole better wake up soon. You snooze you lose, I don't make the rules." Brendon snarked, watching as Nate carefully scanned all the contents of the folder again.

Nate looked up at Alex. The two of them stared intently at each other. Alex shook his head. Nate's jaw clenched. Alex sighed and slumped, and Nate, apparently victorious in the exchange, sat up.

"Well, I remember Pete was dating some model or something. What if we send her?" Nate shrugged. "And if we need to, we can ask her to beg him to come back. Then we handle it from there."

"Nate, we can't endanger her with this war hanging over our heads! It's fucked up and wrong." Alex protested. Brendon waved his hand for him to shut up, and Alex frowned at him.

"Meagan's already got a huge target on her back by being involved with Pete. That's why we had to put Ashlee and Bronx under protection." Brendon reminded him.

"Anyone who ever spoke to Pete is in danger. We're proof of that." Noah spoke lowly, looking at no one.

"Okay." Brendon cut in. "Okay, tell you guys what. I'll think this over, I'll call Meagan, and let you know in a while."

...

As it turns out, they wouldn't need to worry. Meagan took the codename Jett Blue ("Jett, as in Joan Jett. I think Pete would get a kick out of that," She'd said to Brendon as he'd dropped her off at the airport.) and left for London that very weekend. Still, even with knowing that Pete had Meagan and this Charley Marley to watch his back, Brendon couldn't shake the unease over how the asshole was an entire continent away. Sure, he might be safer over there, but, if Love got any bolder, they'd have a major fucking problem on their hands.

"You're worried about them." 

Brendon looked up. Josie was standing there, sightly disheveled, looking as exhausted as he felt. She set a cup in front of him. The liquid was steaming, and in the dim lamplight of the desk he commandeered, he saw its translucence was tinted yellow or amber.

"It's chamomile." She explained. "Helps me sleep when I'm freaking out."

"I'm not freaking out." Brendon snapped. She raised an eyebrow at his tone, and he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm just..." he began tentatively, "a little overwhelmed."

Jo set a hand on his shoulder. "Gabe left a fuck ton of stuff for you to do. A lot of hard decisions had to be made. You've got every right to be overwhelmed."

"How do you deal with it?" Brendon asked, digging his nails into the roots of his hair as the now-acknowledged stress settled deep into his bones. "Watching us leave and knowing full well we might not make it home? Being away from your family?"

"I sing." She admitted, turning a little pink. "I write. I try not to think about it by focusing on the happy memories I have with everyone. But mostly, I talk to somebody like this."

"Shit..." Brendon sighed and choked down some of the chamomile. "Guess I've been kind of bad at that lately."

"You've been busy. It's all right." Josie smiled at him and patted his hand. "But you should talk to Dallon or Sarah sometime. They're worried, I bet."

"An understatement." Brendon snorted. "Thanks, though, Jo." 

They sat in silence as they both finished their tea. Jo soaked in the peace and tranquility, but a particularly intrusive thought in the back of her mind couldn't help but wonder if this would be the last time she would get to talk to Brendon like this.

(It wasn't. They had many calm nightly conversations together. Not every night, not even every other night. Just enough for it to be a comfortable routine.

But when Spencer died later that year, everything only got worse for Brendon. Love's madness was a welcome escape for him. They saved Brendon, but suffice to say the lights were on and no one was home. 

"If you love me let me go!" he screamed, and Sarah's sobs and Dallon's pain-stricken face help set the stage for Jo's nightmares months later.

Sarah put Brendon into a psych ward, at least until after the war--but as the weeks past, Jo wondered if they would ever get to talk to Brendon again.

She still drinks chamomile next to that old desk late at night, and sometimes, Clayton sits with her and lets her mourn the loss of her friend and idol.)


	3. and we traveled like gypsies only with worse luck and far less gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they didn't always have a roadhouse to call home. part 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A rough story idea written on mobile.)

* * *

1 am.

Lucinda Santos couldn't begin to explain why she was driving on I5 in the middle of nowhere with a van full of terrified, questionably healthy people and a small fortune's worth of instruments, amps, junk food, bottled water, and various other touring paraphernalia.  She wished she could say it was touring shit.  God, she wished it was just touring shit. 

She met Ezekial's eyes in the rearview mirror.  He shook his great head.  She gripped the steering wheel and pushed the spedometer to just under ninety.  It was just them, the inky black fields, and the boundless starry sky.  At least for now.  

Beside her, Angelis slept, his head against the window, and that's all she could want right now.  His blond and teal hair cast a green tint on his sleeping face, a halo of light fitting of his name.  

Her eyes caught a glimpse of Noah and Josie's reflections in the mirror.  She gritted her teeth, disgusted at the relief she'd felt when she'd found out because it wasn't Angel--

She'll make it right.

She drives on, toward safety, towards a place where they can get out of this damn van.

...

It's 4 am now.  The sky is still dark but dawn will blush blue into it sooner rather than later.  It's quiet; but for the ambient sounds of the highway and a faint song on the stereo. 

Angel took the wheel some time ago--Clay was supposed to drive, but Angelis took one look at the way Clay's eyes kept drifting to Josie, curled up in the furthest corner of the van, and silently took the keys from his hand. Ezekial carded a hand through Noah's hair.  He didn't blame his brother.  He's been pretty much the same way, ever since they'd found them...

Josie's yellowed irises and Noah's terrified screams every time they approached and the smell of vodka and blood and God, there was so much blood, her hands didn't even shake--

Noah moaned in pain and instantly Ezekial's shaken the past away, eyes upon him.  His large, dark hands gently inspected him for swelling, bleeding, fever, clamminess.  The stitches are less swollen but are still a little hot.  He can't see well in the dark, but he pictured in his mind the painstakingly neat stitches Josephine had made. 

A voice softly whispered to them in the dark.

"I still have ibuprofen." 

Ezekial glanced at Clay's silhouette.  His brother was unusually still, grave, frowning, and grey.  Clay always brought life to any conversation; this sober moment was jarring and surreal, as most of the past few weeks had been.

"I didn't know you were awake." He murmured back. 

"Can't sleep." He replied tonelessly.  There's a soft, plastic sounding clatter, and he can make out a brown hand holding something out to him.  He took the capsule.

"Thanks." 

"No problem." 

Ezekial shook out a few of the pills and handed the bottle back to him.  The water bottle next to him had long since gone lukewarm but beggars can't be choosers, especially when you're apparently a fugitive.  It takes some coaxing but he managed to convince Noah to sit up just long enough to take the pain killers.  

He's always dwarfed Noah in size, but now, in this moment, Noah's body felt so fragile and small in Ezekial's arms.  The boy slept, fitful, brow furrowed, and Ezekial pressed a soft kiss to it.

"It's weird isn't it?" Clay's voice broke the silence again.  He never could stand silence.

"What's weird?" He ventured.

"They're still the same people, but they look so much more fragile now." Ezekial looked up to see Clay now, with a hand in Josie's. He couldn't see her sleeping face in the dark but the silhouette of her head on Clay's chest was clear.  

"Clay--" Ezekial began, but his half-brother cut him off.

"It must be harder for you, you and Noah have been together for years, and you musta been so scared and shit. God. I'm sorry." Clay hesitated for a moment. "I really get it, y'know..." he mumbled finally, and Ezekial finally understood what was troubling him.

Ezekial hummed his agreement. "I love Noah. I thought he was dying in my arms, the first time I'd seen him in months and..." he sighed. "Why'd you bring it up?"

Clay shifted a little and huffed. "I, uh. I'm your brother, and, y'know... I love you dude, so if you ever need to talk..."

Ezekial didn't know how to respond to that.  They hadn't been that close growing up, their fathers having tried to keep them from each other.  But in recent years, Ezekial couldn't imagine life without his brother. 

"I feel the same." He admitted. Clay's sigh of relief was audible. "And if you're asking... even if the person is not receptive right now... if they have experienced trauma, well, they need your support now more than ever.  Be there, just as you've been doing." 

Clay chuckled softly. "Thanks.  Always wanted to get love advice from my big bro." 

It was Ezekial's turn to laugh at that.  He met Angel's eyes in the mirror and saw him smiling, too.  Then it dawned on him.  

This was the first time that Clayton Michaelis had spoken since they'd found Noah and Josie.

...

The parched hills and dusty roads gave way to greenery, tall, thick trees and the mist that hinted the presence of the coast.  It's noon and Josie's at the wheel.

("Are you sure?" Noah had asked. 

"I'm fine.  I'm good to drive." Josie promised. 

Clay made her pledge to switch out with him as soon as she felt the need. She had said a non-commital "no promises" and stuck by that response until Ezekial shot her The Look and then she'd caved.)

The windows are rolled down and Josie revelled in the sea spray hitting her face.

"Let's take a break longer than a few minutes," she suggested, "let's stretch our legs and look at the ocean!"

The silence that met her was deafening as it was disheartening.

"I don't know..." Ezekial sighed. "It could be dangerous."

"We have been driving for days. We need a break." Josie quickly countered. "We could stop a motel. Grab some showers, relax a day or two, then get back on the road."

"This isn't some fucking vacation, Josephine!" Angel exclaimed and while she tried not to, she still flinched at his tone. She sighed, grit her teeth, and settled to drive if she had to.

"Some rest in a real bed could be helpful to Noah." Lucinda chimed in. "And Josie is right. We do need a quick break.

 So of course, just like that, Ezekial was immediately on board, Angelis agreed purely for Lucinda's sake, and Clay, wanting nothing but his friends to be happy, conceded to Josie's whim. She giggled excitedly and parked near the beachside motel she'd spotted, and the rest was history--they'd gotten two adjacent rooms, set Noah up in a bed, gotten some supplies in town.

She stood on the coastline now, toes sunken into the sand. The sun was warm but the marine breeze chilled goosebumps onto her arms. 

"I hate the beach." Clay's voice was in her ear. His arms wrapped around hers, his body heat a comforting, radiating source.

"You didn't have to come with me." She replied, even as she pressed into his embrace.

"Wrong.  Where you go, I go." She didn't have to look at him to know he wasn't joking or flirting for once.

She lifted her head towards the sky and sniffed deeply. "Isn't it nice though? The sea breeze. The sound of the ocean. Having a bed!" She looked back at him and he smiled back.

"You're just happy that you got to buy more clothes." He teased. "What even are these?" He tugged the waistband of her shorts.

"Well, they were cute and I thought it was going to be warmer." Josie replied, fiddling with the top of the three buttons.

"You and those little high waisted shorts. Use this." 

He draped his leather jacket over her shoulders and she gladly slipped into it. 

"You're right though," Clay continued, "It's nice having fresh clothes to wear. I never thought I'd be so fucking glad to take a shower before." He chuckled. "Might wanna disinfect the shit outta it after Angel and Luci are done."

"Really?"

"Yeah, man, God, I bet there's gonna be cum on every surface with the way they go at it." Clay grimaced as if he was legitimately concerned, and Josie laughed, pure and light for the first time in a while, and her face hurt, as if the muscles had forgotten how to smile. 

...

 There wasn't cum on every surface thankfully. Noah was watching TV and Ezekial was dutifully folding the small array of clothes they'd gathered in town. In the corner, a large pack of bottled water and easy prep foodstuffs occupied a large amount of floorspace. It might not be much, but it was a start. 

"You look much better." Josie commented, sitting next to Noah. Clay looked his best friend over; his skin no longer had that gray, papery look to it, nor did it have the dark pink that the fever had tinted his skin. He was still a little on the pale side, but he looked much healthier, not as frail as he had just a few nights ago. 

"Feel better." Noah replied. "A hot shower was just what I needed, all that filth was probably not helping the wound heal either." He lifted his shirt to peek at the site of that mishmash of staples and stitches; hidden under a clean white bandage, even this looked better, the surrounding skin white and not soaked in blood or pus. 

"Think we all needed a hot shower and some down time." Clay replied with a nod. He reached over and pulled Noah into a loose hug. "It's good to see you're okay."

"You too, idiot." Noah patted his shoulder. "Your brother tells me you didn't even talk until a few days ago? What the fuck man?"

"Really? Is that true?" Josie's eyes landed on Clay and glowed with such worry that it hurt his heart.

"No, no, he's exaggerating. I was just." Clay shrugged. "You know. I just wanted you guys to be okay." 

(Josie staring sightlessly into the distance, not responding when he whispered her name or squeezed her hand, Noah lying there, looking dead, gray, cold, the bluish tint his lips took, Ezekial always soaked in blood as he and Josie faithfully dressed and redressed the wound and Lucinda's whiteknuckled grip on the steering wheel, she tries to talk to him but Clay's ears are still ringing from the explosion)

"I didn't have anything to say except that I was sorry." Clay muttered.

Noah blinked and Josie turned away. A heavy hand landed on Clay's shoulder and he looked up at Ezekial smiling sadly. 

"You couldn't have known. You couldn't have stopped it." 

Clay hesitated, but Josie's teary face as she squeezed his hand and the grim line of Noah's face as he shook his head told him there was nothing to be forgiven.

"... yeah." He finally agreed. 

"We've been through a lot of shit and... for all we know, this is just the beginning of the end. We've got a long way to go. But at least here, together, it's a start." Josie said softly. "I wasn't even in my own head for most of--all that. But you guys... we're together and safe and that's a start."

"It's a start." Clayton agreed. Josie smiled at him. That was a start, too.


	4. baby we built this house on memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> after the death of a friend, the roadhouse crew reflects on the home they've built. (pt 2)

Hayley's body crumpled in a bloodied heap in Victoria's arms.  Her red hair created a halo around her head, her lips split in one last smile, eyes staring sightlessly at the sky.

Courtney Love stood over the women, lips curled in a sneer.  She spat on the ground, then turned--she didn't get what she wanted, but there was no reason to stay.  2Chainz and those damn leather-clad bitches flanked her as she walked away.

It was over, but nobody won.

They stood in the treeline, frozen in disbelief.  Josephine was the first to break the stunned silence, leaping forward out of the brush, but Clayton grabbed her around the waist and held her to him.

"LET ME GO! I CAN SAVE HER!" She wailed. "No no no! I can stop the bleeding, I can, I can help her!" 

"No, baby. It's over." Clay whispered. She slumped, defeated.

It was over.

* * *

A bottle of whiskey, three of vodka, a case or two of beer.  A couple of bottles of wine.  Scattered cups of orange juice and coke and other pairings for the vast amounts of alcohol scattered about the basement.  And in the thick of it, there they were.

Josie was slumped in Clay's arms, sobbing softly.  Clay's head rested against the wall, eyes staring into the middle distance--where his mind had drifted was unknown.  Victoria had Gabe's head in her lap.  Sometime between second case of beer and the third bottle of vodka, he'd reached the limit between "fucked up" and "too far gone", so she'd laid him down in one of the booths. Maybe for her own sake as well. Even though she knew her hands were clean of Hayley's blood she kept rubbing them.  Out, out, damn spot.

Brendon, for once, hadn't joined in the "revelry".  Instead, he sat at the piano with his hands folded in his lap, his knee bouncing rhythmically.  Dallon sat on the floor next to him, nursing a cup of vodka and orange juice.  The smell made Brendon's stomach churn. He plinked out a small melody, muttered under his breath, "if you love me, let me go..."

Noah kept a hand on his abdomen.  Underneath the cotton of his shirt, there lay the old scars of the stitches done to keep him from bleeding out.  Or worse, like losing his intestines or other vital bits.  The wound had long since healed, even though it had been touch and go, but tonight, the scar itched and ached in a phantom pain he didn't know how to make go away.

As for the rest... The mournful silence that had befallen the basement was juxtaposed by Hayley's singing over the stereo.  The last record left of Paramore's existence was, ironically, their last record.  

* * *

 

"It's important for us to stay together now more than ever." Gabe said the next day over breakfast. (More realistically, lunch, Josie would point out on any other day. But Brendon and Clay would insist that the first meal of the day is always breakfast, regardless of the time of the day. And Gabe would agree with them, predictably.)

But Noah looked about at the gathered, at Brendon and Victoria, at Dallon and Bill and Tyler and Josh, at Max, and Josie, and... he lingered on Hayley's empty seat--

He looked away, and his eyes fell on Ezekial. His lover met his gaze, and where Noah would have once been reassured he now felt uncertainty.

He swallowed, unsure if they could bear to lose anyone else.

* * *

"You know how much hell we went through to put this place together?" Lucinda groused to him later.  "And you want to give up?"

"No, no, that's not what I--," Noah began, but Luci cut him off with a flip of her hair.

"That's what it sure as hell sounds like.  You're talking like you want to give up on this place and run away when you know damn well this is probably one of the only fuckin' safe places for people like us." she scolded, and he lowered his head.

"Hayley's dead." Noah replied quietly.

"Gee's dead. Mikey's dead. Ryan's dead." she countered tersely, "And you think that anyone else dying because we chickened out and ran away--because we didn't protect anyone from Love--because we didn't try to fight back--you think that Hayley would want us to do that just because she's dead?  She died to give us a fighting chance.  She died to give us another fucking shitty day to live through because that's all we have left, Noah!  Each other!" Lucinda shouted, her perfect composure broken for once.  And Noah bit his lip and looked away in shame.

"We fought so hard to--to make this place safe.  I'm not giving it up." She sniffed, though she would later be quick to deny it. "I'm not letting anyone give up."

* * *

Back, before the others had found them. Back, before they had home.

They'd left that seaside town better rested and better equipped for the journey they'd had to make. Lucinda remembered the regretful look on Clayton's face as he pulled the van onto the highway, but, as she settled in Angel's arms in the back seat, she personally didn't mind leaving it behind. The sounds of that small town made her ears hurt, and they couldn't even play any music to drown it out. At least here on the road, the were free to play the stereo or sing or cry without fear of anyone overhearing. 

They drove back inland, toward the valley. Golden hills surrounded them on all sides, dotted with the occasional manor and ranchhouse, herd of cows, or sprawling green tree. As the sky bloomed from pale blue to a sprawl of pinks, reds, golds, and purples, Luci tugged her bangs in thought.

"Hey, milagrosa," She murmured, tapping the back of the seat in front of her. "Josefina," she continued, her native Spanish rolling off her tongue as easily as the songs used to. 

"Yeah?" Josie raised her head and turned back to look at her.

"You miss painting shit like this?" Luci gestured to the sunset beside them. The hills revealed a lake in its center, the sunset glimmering on the lakeside and the shimmering rocky ridges. 

"Yeah," she admitted after a moment, "wasn't much time to grab my art supplies when we left Cooperstown."

"If we ever get back, kid, I got something for you." Lucinda told her. "My grandmama, may she rest in peace, used to paint and draw and all that. She had this beautiful set of handmade brushes. I wanna give it to you."

"Thank you." Josie replied quietly. "Are you sure?"

"I ain't good at that artsy stuff. I know you'd take care of it. I wanna give her brushes to someone I know."

Josie smiled. The two of them talked about art until long after night fell. Noah chimed in too, probably reminded of his dad. Lucinda wondered if the others would mind terribly if she snuck into a Michaels or something the next time they stopped in a town. It wouldn't be a necessity but god damn if it wouldn't improve morale. 

* * *

 

"You think you could design a tattoo for me?" Hayley asked, peeking over Josie's shoulder as she drew. 

"Maybe, if you don't mind it being a bit shitty." She laughed.

"Dude, look at this," Hayley shook her head. She pointed at the drawing. "That looks exactly like Bren. You even got his bigass forehead right."  Both girls lifted their heads to look at the drawing's subject.  Brendon Urie had long since passed out in his chair of choice, a plush yet ugly mustard yellow monstrosity rescued from a garage sale.  His lanky form slumped in the seat-and-a-half, cheek rested peacefully upon his shoulder.

"Hard not to, thing's like a fuckin billboard." Josie snickered, minding their sleeping companion. Hayley tried to muffle the ensuing laughter in her hands, but instead, produced a loud snort, causing both of them to fall into giggle-fits, the difficulty of keeping themselves quiet making them laugh even more.

"What are you two laughing about?" Gabe's voice startled Josie, causing her pencil.

"Shit, oops."

"I got it," Gabe said, stooping over as the pencil rolled towards his foot. "Here, kiddo. Hey, is that Brendon?" He, too, began to scrutinize Josie's art.  He even called over Victoria and Dallon and Tyler, and Josie blushed under all the attention.

Lucinda, seeing this as she passed through the basement, smiled.

* * *

 

"Baby, we built this house on memories." 

Clay whispered to Josie one night.

"What do you mean?" she mumbled back, fighting back the urge to sleep.

"This motel, this thing we all made--" Josie didn't need to look at him to know his eyes were gleaming in the dark--"it was a pile of junk when we found it and now look at it. Decent place to be right babe? We did that."

"We did." she replied indulgently, carding her fingers through his hair.

"I was just thinking, Josie. Even if this--whatever it is--doesn't work, even if we all get split up or die or whatever, this place is still gonna be here.  The basement's still gonna be down there.  The memories and shit, they don't just go away." He breathed deeply, shifting slightly under the covers. 

"I guess you're right. Even if no one knows about it-- if no one knows about  _us_ \--this place is still here. S'our home." She smiled at the thought.

"Yeah. Our home." He kissed her nose. "We make it out of this thing... I'll make you another house of memories, Josie."

"Here's hoping." She entwined her fingers with his and pulled him closer to her.  "This place will do just fine till then."

* * *

 

They'd found it by accident.

It was a typical case of eerie coincidence--

Ezekial had been continuously fretting about getting a real roof over the heads as the days turned colder and mists rolled in. Their combined coffers were by no means empty, as they worked odd jobs here and there in the smaller towns, with Ezekial's brawn being in high demand in the more rural towns, Josie's art a sellable commodity online under fake names, and Noah and Josie's odd collection of old spaghetti sauce jars filled with coins growing to a rather startling sum.  

They weren't suffering in that regard, at least, able to make ends meet and afford food and occasionally cram into motel beds, but it just wasn't safe to rent a place out. They were too scared, too frightened of being found out.  But winter was coming, and the need for shelter was definitely strong; sure, the van was a sturdy structure, but damn if it didn't get cold at night, and the moist, humid air always felt sticky in Noah's lungs.

So of course, it always comes down to eerie cliches.

There was a massive storm, threatening enough that news reported warnings of flash flooding.  Noah remembered this clearly, because how could you forget the way you feel the first time you look at your home? It was pouring hard, the rain and fog casting a dense gray across the road and treeline and, as you'd expect, the van got stuck in the mud on a strangely deserted highway. 

An old, long-healed fracture in Noah's arm ached in the cold and wet as he stood outside with the others. 

"Well fucking hell!" Clay shouted, kicking the tire hard. Muddy water splattered against his legs and Ezekial's, causing Noah to roll his eyes. 

Luci shivered, soaked to the bone, and Angel rubbed her arms sympathetically. 

They tried to push the van again, to no avail. Josie hopped out of the driver seat into the rain and slammed the door shut. 

"Fuck. Well, anyone got any better ideas?" she drawled.

Noah frowned. "Huddle in the van?"

"We might float away." Lucinda said with a grimace, looking down at the freezing, muddy, ankle deep water.

"We might get pneumonia." Josie added with a shiver. 

"There's a place up the stairs over there, maybe we can ask the owners if we can stay till the storm's passed." Clay suggested, pointing to a set of concrete stairs in the trees. In the mist, Noah made out a large building of some sort. 

"I guess that's as good a plan as any." He replied. He gestured at Josie for the keys and unlocked the back. "Better bring our clothes and shit."

...

The building, which was evidently some sort of motel or bed and breakfast, was a mess.

The windows were broken and the door sat at an angle. The tell tale dripping let them know that somewhere, there was a leak. One couch was missing a cushion, the other was covered in dust. The worst part was that, at the desk, in the kitchen, it all seemed like the staff had left in the middle of work.

The implications were as chilling as the stormy weather.

"At least there's a roof over our heads. There's a fireplace in the lounge over there, so perhaps we should all huddle together for the night." Ezekial suggested, setting one of the duffel bags of their collective belongings down.

"Seems like a good idea. There's a generator in the basement, so maybe me and Noah can get the power going." Angel added. Noah nodded. He didn't have much tech expertise, but he did know how to wire something in a pinch. You kind of have to learn these things when you're a fugitive.

"The kitchen has a gas stove." Josie added helpfully, "So we can at least make some soup or something hot to eat." 

They all stopped for a second and looked at each other and smiled. 

"Well," Lucinda said, brow quirked at everyone's quick thinking and the gift they'd found for the night, "I guess we're gonna be just fine."

...

The storm lasted for three days. And a stir crazy group of young adults will explore if given the opportunity.

In their survey of the abandoned building they'd found an old speakeasy hidden in the basement. The once glossy wood polishings and leather seats and beautiful tables and the bar and stage were all covered in dust, the furniture draped in pitiful moth-eaten sheets. 

"Jesus," Noah whistled as he walked around the room. He sneezed, and coughed. "You can just feel the jazz." 

"That could just be your asthma." Jo teased, handing Noah a small napkin to cover his mouth with. He laughed.

Clay, without ceremony, tugged one of the sheets off. A thick cloud of dust, upset, quickly retaliated. He coughed and fanned his arms around. 

"Nice going, genius." Angelis chuckled.

"But look, dude." He reached towards his discovery and a sour note rang out. 

"Wow..." Josie quickly joined Clay. Before them lay a piano, aged and definitely beyond its prime. The ivory keys had yellowed with time, and, perhaps in the days of its use, the piano may have once been white or some color in the family.

"Jesus," Noah repeated, "That thing would probably be worth a couple thousand if you fixed it up."

"No way, this baby is mine." Josie smiled. "I've always wanted a grand piano. Now we finally have a place to put it!" 

They all laughed. it was nice to imagine having a place to call home again.

...

(It becomes home slowly, over the next few weeks. Winter comes and they decide to stay. So they dust, they clean, they replace parts. They get the water working, they fix the generator. They refurbish and restore that old, old speakeasy. And just like the flappers used to drink banned booze and dance to jazz in those hidden clubs, they hide what few instruments of theirs they saved in hopes of playing again one day.

Then they find a wounded Brendon Urie with Gerard Way and Frank Iero.

Then they find Cobra Starship.

Then one day, they're all laughing as Brendon dicks around at the piano, singing covers of songs off the top of his head like the fucking genius he is.

But slowly the silence falls again as one by one they fall and break.

Till one day, a few years and a war later, Pete Wentz will stand in this speakeasy lounge and will watch as Josie Cruz will play her white piano and sing a song to the empty room, unknowing of how his friends had also once stood there with her.)


End file.
